I stopped my horse, and looked round me again.
Yes: I saw it. With my own eyes I saw it. A pillar of white mist--between five and six feet high, as well as I could judge--was moving beside me at the edge of the road, on my left hand. When I stopped, the white mist stopped. When I went on, the white mist went on. I pushed my horse to a trot--the pillar of mist was with me. I urged him to a gallop---the pillar of mist was with me. I stopped him again--the pillar of mist stood still.
The white color of it was the white color of the fog which I had seen over the river--on the night when I had gone to bid her farewell. And the chill which had then crept through me to the bones was the chill that was creeping through me now.
I went on again slowly. The white mist went on again slowly--with the clear bright night all round it.
